Taber's Report
by ClockworkScales
Summary: Taber recounts his time before, during and after electric shock therapy and the lobotomy... It shows how he changed afterwards. Written as a Creative Response that never was. Slightly corny ending.


**A/N: I wrote this weeks and weeks before receiving a Creative Response for English, assuming we would be doing it on our study material at the time: One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. As I found out a few days ago, this was not the case. The story had been sitting patiently on my computer, and my teacher's pigeon hole as a draft, for many, many weeks now. So, this was a Creative Response to the Creative Response that never was. Ah, I'm poetic. As for this story, the wording and sentence structure is a bit of a mess. I had the Chief's voice in mind as I wrote this, even though it's from Taber's perspective. I changed it around a little to sound a bit more like him (or what we can deduce from what little we see/hear of his character in the book). This is the story of how he became "good". **

* * *

We have this log book where people copy what other's said and record them in this big, old book sitting in front of the Nurse's Watch. In meetings we bring up what goddamn crap one Acute's written down and we pull out our pens and paper and throw them at the one being questioned, stabbing them in the repeatedly in the chest with blotchy blue ink, whilst the one who wrote it is silently praised and sits with their hands in their lap, staring at the tiled floor, not looking up, too ashamed to do a single fucking thing.

People write about me in that book. Misturrr Maxwell Taburrrr. "Mad _Max_." ''As Taber been tabered up, again, Nurse Rached?' It ain't all funny stuff they write in though. I shoulda been expecting it. I should _have_, sorry Harding. On Tuesday, the picture on the calendar was that of a crocodile with its big grinning teeth and Nurse Rached got it torn off because it upset one of the Chronics. One guy kept yelling in his wheelchair and pointing at the crocodile's teeth, going completely berserk and a few of the aides had to go and calm him down. They shoved a tiny white pill in his mouth and then in about half a minute, he's back in his wheelchair, and the aides stick a poker down his throat to make sure he doesn't swallow his tongue.

'It appears Colonel Matterson has had a traumatic experience with such a reptile,' Harding commented from the table, watching the wheelchair being pushed out of the day room. 'But then again, it seemed like he had never seen such a beast in any of his days.'

And then Miss Deary Rached talks about them darling white pills at next meeting, explaining how they're "for your own good, Mr Taber" and how they "have therapeutic value".

'What kind of therapeutic value?' I ask her. I stare at her coldly, hoping my glare can match that of hers, she's trying to seem good with that small smile which seems to have been chiselled in her face for all eternity like a stupid, little mannequin on display in an obnoxious store. 'I mean, if they knock us out cold then-'

'The pill you are referring to silenced Mr. Matterson to a point to where he could be taken care of away from prying eyes,' she looks at me like I insulted the guy or something. 'Unless you'd rather poor Mr. Matterson have suffered and be pulled out of the day room in such distress...'

'No, but, I'm wondering if you'd ever-' I stop short, noticing how uncomfortable the rest of the room is. But of course, they don't care about the pills, but I continue. 'I'm just wondering if any of the staff would be slipping a pill in somebody's food if they ever needed to take them away for something.'

'Take them away for what, Max?'

My jaw clamps together so hard I think my teeth are gonna shatter. She knows damn well I don't like being called Max. It's either Mr Taber or nothing. Jesus Christ, woman. She's playing me, she's spiting me. I can see it in her eyes, she knows she's winning, but by God, my hands are itching to snake round that neck and hit her stupid, smack her till she's dead.

'Are you suggesting that there is somebody in this room that needs to be taken away, Mr Taber?'

At least she's using my proper name, again, but the rage is filling my insides quicker than saliva fizzing from poison consumption.

I tell her No, I don't, but hypothetically speaking...

'I think you'll find, Mr Taber that the ward are quite responsible and mature about admonishing pills to their patients. I think you'll find that there's nothing to worry about,' she pauses and stares around at everybody from behind the glass like she's daring somebody to speak back. I unclench my fists and sink down into my chair, breathing in noisily through my nose. 'But if you think there's an issue which needs to be raised about it...'

Then next time we're round for pills, I notice a couple of red capsules in my glass and no, no, that doesn't go well with me. Not at all. Not a shooey shake. Then they think it's alright just to knock me down the next day, they flatten me against a table and rip my pants off. Jesus Christ it's cold, but that's not it. I know what's coming. A nurse sticks that needle up my rear and after wrapping me in a damp towel, they drag me out into a room I've never been b'for where they stick one of those white pills in my mouth and force me to dry-swallow.

When I regain consciousness, there are black faces staring down at me like doctors, heck, they wish they were doctors, and one of them motions to another and they alert the attention of a man with spectacles pinching his nose red and before I know it I'm sinking back into a slumber, a state of unconsciousness visited only by dreams of metal wiring, and leather clasps around my wrists and ankles, binding me to a table. There's a buzzing noise, and I'm waking up but then just as I gain consciousness I realize where I am and my eyes widen in fear and horror. The Shock Shop. That's where I am, that's what I'm doing here. They clamp a piece of rubber in my mouth for me to bite on but I spit it out and a nurse hurries to my side and pushes it between my lips; no go. She prises my mouth open and then pushes it down on the rubber object placed between my teeth. The buzzing device is nearing my head and there are these white balls touching my temples, making my thoughts ring, making my mind pound and shake and scream in protest as the electrical machine, the electrical monster nears my skull. Next thing I know my eardrums shatter with a whirring zap and everything goes black.

When I wake, I'm on a gurney with my head propped on a pillow and the blankets draped over my body feel fresh and clean and _alive_. By god, this can't be happening can it? I scarce believe my eyes as I sit up and Nurse Rached puts a white arm around my shoulder and pulls me into her breast. It suddenly occurs to me that there's a strange numb feeling around my forehead.

'How are you feeling, Mr Taber?'

I tell her I don't know, but then I tell her I feel fine. I feel awake and alive.

'That's very well, now isn't it Mr Taber? Would you like to try to get up?'

I tell her I'm quite okay here, thank you, and if she could please get me a glass of water. She does so, smiling at me like I'm a little boy who fell in the mud, caught a cold and has woken up from their first night of illness and she's some kind of protector. I hug the pillow to my chest and breathe in the smell of sanitary, the smell of over cleanliness, of cleaning product. It burns my nostrils and I pick a tissue out of the box held out to me by an aide who I didn't know was there and blow it.

'Thank you,' I tell him. He doesn't make any sign he heard.

I get my glass of water and Nurse Rached asks me a bunch of questions like am I okay and is there anything I'd like to say, anything I want to do, anything I want to get off my chest and out in the open where it's safe. I tell her, no, it's not necessary and she pats my head and tells me I can go home whenever I want, just let the doctor do some tests on me first.

I give the empty glass to the black aide next to me and force a grin at him. He finally looks at me and a corner of his mouth tugs into a half-smile.

'Boy, it's pretty cold in here,' I say, trying to be friendly. My mind is buzzing clear of thought and disturbance and I've never felt more like going outside. There's a window behind me and I can see the sun shining so brightly, so warmly, so orange and yellow, lighting the dew outside. I get up and stretch, and when Nurse Rached comes back she hands me some of my old clothes. I haven't worn them for months and the jacket, black shirt and string-drawn pants are comforting. I pull them on and the Nurse smiles at me like at a child who's graduating from High School. 'It'll be just like you never left, won't it, Mr Taber?'

'It's winter now, Miss Rached. Of course it will be,' I say, and I give a small salute as the aide opens the door and I walk down the corridor, past the day room, smirking and grinning to myself, the feeling of a bird about to leap out of my chest and fly out into the sky. I wish I was. But this is just as good. The freedom you feel as you walk out of those doors, knowing that you're fixed, you're cured. It don't matter if it's summer or winter and you're sweating or you're freezing your balls off, it's still warm out there.


End file.
